Idle Hands Are The Devil's Playthings
by xX-Crayola-Xx
Summary: My first fanfic! Alex x OC but I promise it's great! A new girl, young and naive, stirs ancient and "weak" feeling in the all powerful Alex...
1. Chapter 1

Alex POV

Ah, sweet Melodia. I would almost seem like bog and all his angels had shone down upon it, just for me, if it wasn't for its ridiculous eemya. I strolled in and viddied the mesto like any other day. That's when I saw the malenky devotchka, over in the corner. She was around 15 and standing over by the New Releases in a thick, purple sweater. An ash ponytail swung by the dama's hips. She was humming an unfamiliar tune that one could easily kopat. I straightened my shirt and walked over. "Hardly Timbre, eh?" I pretended to pony even an inkling of who the veck was. She turned to me and a pale little rooker fluttered to her peachy rot. "Yes. Their music is…passable."

"I myself prefer classical." Offense fillied on her litso. "Well, some are not as fortunate enough to be as cultivated as yourself." I couldn't stop my amusement with her silly anger from showing. "Thine lips deceive, then." I bowed low. "It's an honor. You can call me Alex." She viddied me over with a skeptic glazzie. "Gwendolyn." Turning her back to me, she resumed flipping through the records. That was very annoying. Did she take me for some second-rate skolliwoll nazz? She had no idea who she was messing with. I _always_ get what I want. "Well, Miss Gwendolyn, it is a pleasure." I held out my left rooker. She turned to me, obviously confused and litso flushed. "Likewise, Alexander." Now that I had flattered her she spoke to me like some grand sophisto. Ptitsas today were so very predictable. It almost wasn't fun. Almost.

"So, Gwendolyn, I've come here many a times and never have I seen you. Where are you from?" I spoke in a most gentleman goloss. "Have you heard of Huntsview?" She waited from me to respond. I nodded and looked at the blue veins pulsing under her pale plott. I knew of the warm, ruby friend that they carried and regarded it fondly. "Next to that is a city called Maywick." I raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I'm from a little town close to there called Clark's Willow." She raised her hand and smoothed her hair, instinctively, I presume. "Well, that's horrorshow. Quite dobby. I happen to be a native. I've lived here my whole life. I'd be the perfect person to give you a tour, if you would accompany me." Her eyes darted to the temporary kot behind the counter. The grahzny bratchny was giving Gwendolyn the ol' glazzie staredown and getting quite a kick out of it. You could tell the gloopy orange was harboring a pan-handle. I turned her the other way and whispered softly. "Listen, if I don't get you out of here soon, the guy behind the counter is liable to jump you." She looked over her shoulder and looked back. "Really?" Her eyes grew wide. Too easy. "Of course! Uncle Alex knows these things. Come with me." I took her hand and led her outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwendolyn POV

He led me through the winter streets as the beginning of the night chill crept in. I could feel the cold radiating from my gut. He was busy explaining what buildings were which and what streets to avoid when I realized I was past the point of no return. "And miles to go before I sleep." I mumbled the line from my favorite poem softly. "What was that?" He asked, not even looking over at me, though I still felt his eyes when I turned my head.

He led me to a dark apartment off of a backstreet. Dear friends, I cannot tell you badly my nerves were showing. My hands quivered, my lips trembled, and my legs felt too weak to support my person. 'Am I really here? Am I truly doing this?' This boy is acting quite peculiar and his intent is most obvious. Yet, here I am, walking with him to his home.

We crept into the living room and I could hear faint snoring in the distance. Oh, god! He was going to do this with his parents here?! At least, if anything goes wrong, someone will hear me scream. That thought sent a shiver down my spine. He reached over an arm and pulled me close. His room was in chaotic organization if that makes any sense whatsoever. His sheets were in disarray but other things were neatly stacked together. A snake sat in the corner, furled upon a rock. "Come, sit." He gestured to his bed. He walked over to his closet and hung up his jacket as I sat on the bed, wondering what would happen next.


	3. Chapter 3

A special shout-out to sierradelarge. I didn't think anyone actually read this :D Glad to know someone appreciates my efforts.

Alex POV

The devotchka, Gwendolyn, sat on my bed, smottovat like a trapped animal that unwittingly goolied into a hunter's snare. It felt strange to think of them with eemya. Sure, the malenky ones usually told me theirs, but they were always just the toy of the minoota. Never tangible. I turned back to the devotchka with the over-sized glazzies. She really wasn't anything special. Gangly limbs, awkward hips, nothing extremely special about her groodies. Still, there was a look in her eye as if I was exactly where she wanted me. At that moment, it dawned upon me. This pathetic cheena thought that she had rabbited me! Foolish child. I'd put her in her place soon enough though.

I dazzled her with my silver-like zoobies. I could practically feel the corners of my rot turning up. "Is there anything I can get you?" I walked over to where I kept a hidden stash of the ol' firegold. She didn't reply, just furrowed her brow like she was ponying something intense like. I put odin in her rook and smiled, trying not to smot sarky. I played a little Mozart, hoping to calm her nerves. She didn't get to listen to Ludwig Van, not yet.

After a few rounds of the record, she was pyahnitsa enough to forget where she was. I sat down next to her and she barely noticed. She shivered when I ran my hands up her rock. "Sh. None of that now." I leaned her down gently while a thrumming blossomed in my lower stomach in time to the music. Getting her undressed was fairly difficult; she fell as limp as a rag doll in my rooks. That wouldn't be any fun though, would it? I shook her a bit and when I received no response, I slapped her. Not hard enough to leave a mark for longer than an hour, bat hard enough to bring her out a bit of her drunk stupor.

As I lay on top of her, I could see her emotions as plain as day. Pain, frustration, determination, pleasure…

After a while, those emotions had cleared her gulliver a bit. She panted heavily under my weight. I derived satisfaction from moment of it. "Do you regret your decision to take a trip with dear Uncle Alex?" At this moment I expected her to break down. "Do you always speak in third person?" She managed out in between labored breaths. This upset me and I thrust harder. "Do you…" inhale "wish you had" exhale "never met me?" I pinned her wrists back and made her look at me. "Good decisions often escape me." She would not relent. Wicked hellcat! Why wouldn't she just submit?


End file.
